


everyone knows that God protects drunkards and lovers

by piperreynas



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, F/M, note that these relationships are still developing as of ch1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piperreynas/pseuds/piperreynas
Summary: athos enters the office on the first of december as he does on most days: with the general demeanor of a man that has given up on anything resembling decorum, and dressed impeccably despite this, to find the office absolutely covered in tinsel. his response is to sigh and head straight for the cabinet of coffee mugs.judging by the utter disappointment on aramis’ face, athos’ reaction to this development is at least a little underwhelming, but the look on athos’ face when he finds himself pouring whiskey into a mug over tinsel at ten in the morning more than makes up for his prior indifference, constance thinks, fighting to hold back her fit of giggles from her place at the receptionist’s desk.or: an office au





	1. the rochefort incident

**Author's Note:**

> * this is VERY LOOSELY based on the office, the show had little to no bearing on the plot of the fic.
>   
> 
> * will try to update as soon as possible, but updates will likely be infrequent as i'm writing as i go and i've still got like. two other fics to finish. whoops.
>   
> 
> * also very loosely inspired by philthestone's [happiness, like those palaces in fairy tales](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16643396) which is a very good fic that i wld totally reccomend you read
>   
> 
> * title from dumas' three musketeers, which i am a little more than halfway through reading and would also reccomend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> on december fourth at precisely 12:01 p.m., just as constance is about to leave for lunch, d’artagnan finds a leftover piece of tinsel inside the paper towel dispenser in the men’s bathroom, and monsieur treville comes out of his office with his hands clasped solemnly behind his back to make An Announcement. 
> 
> “corporate has decided to downsize,” he says, bluntly, without any sort of build-up, “and we are one of the branches under review."

athos enters the office on the first of december as he does on most days: with the general demeanor of a man that has given up on anything resembling decorum, and dressed impeccably despite this, to find the office absolutely covered in tinsel. his response is to sigh and head straight for the cabinet of coffee mugs.

judging by the utter disappointment on aramis’ face, athos’ reaction to this development is at least a little underwhelming, but the look on athos’ face when he finds himself pouring whiskey into a mug over tinsel at ten in the morning more than makes up for his prior indifference, constance thinks, fighting to hold back her fit of giggles from her place at the receptionist’s desk.

“what’s happened?” d’artagnan asks, skidding through the door. he is ten minutes late, as per usual.

beside her, steve, pet goldfish and unofficial office mascot, bumps up against the side of his bowl. he does this quite often on account of he is a goldfish with terrible depth perception, but constance likes to imagine sometimes that he’s looking out for her, that his swimming straight into the side of his bowl is an attempt to warn her away from, say, ridiculous colleagues.

constance takes in d’artagnan’s disheveled hair and missing shoe with the diligence that steve’s warning warrants and frowns. there are a number of things she should say: “you’re late,” perhaps, or “where is your shoe?”, and a number of things she wants to say, for example: “you’ve got no right to look this endearing this early in the morning,” but what she says instead is, “that tie looks horrendous,” because being around him has absolutely destroyed her sense of tact. maybe it’s the hair. or the tie in question, which today is covered in little purple whales that clash horribly with the rest of the bright red tie.

d’artagnan stares, bewildered, at his whales, then up at constance, then at athos, who, ten minutes later, is still alternating between being angry at aramis and staring forlornly at his wasted whiskey. constance wonders if d’artagnan’s even noticed that he’s missing a shoe. “whales are nice,” he says finally, “i like them.”

“me too,” porthos says, wandering over from his desk with a smile. d’artagnan calms visibly (as one is wont to do when faced with porthos’ smile) and turns to raise a brow at constance as if to say _see_? this has the adverse effect of making him look ridiculous, and constance, instead of being convinced of the superiority of his tie, attempts to fight off another fit of giggles.

“you’re missing a shoe,” she says finally, attempting to regain her composure. her tone, meant to be stern, falls somewhere between “amused” and “fond.”

he looks down at his feet, sighs as though this is a normal occurrence and trudges off to his desk muttering about a spare pair. constance and porthos watch in, amused, as d’artagnan looks between his lone, battered brown shoe and a pair of equally battered black shoes and decides that it’s best to walk around shoeless for the rest of the day.

there is a long moment of silence before athos, having finally abandoned both anger and whiskey, sighs at the sight of d’artagnan making his way to the break-room clad in a wrinkled blue button-down, pressed slacks, and ridiculously bright hippo socks the same colour as his hideous tie. constance bites her lip to stifle her grin.

aramis gives her a Look, smiling over the top of his mug of hot chocolate, likely pilfered from treville's secret stash. she glares at him in warning and reminds herself sternly that she doesn’t have time for Things Such As These (by which she means dalliances with unfairly attractive employees) because she is responsible, and sensible, and most importantly, in need of her job.

(steve the goldfish bumps against the side of his bowl again and constance sighs and tosses a few flakes of food into his bowl in thanks. next to her, aramis spits tinsel onto the floor, dismayed, then turns to glare immediately at a smirking athos.)

.

three days later, on thursday, december fourth at precisely 12:01 p.m., just as constance is about to leave for lunch, d’artagnan finds a leftover piece of tinsel inside the paper towel dispenser in the men’s bathroom and monsieur treville comes out of his office with his hands clasped solemnly behind his back to make An Announcement.

“corporate has decided to downsize,” he says bluntly, without any sort of build-up, “and we are one of the branches under review." he offers no reassurance after making this statement.

all of the other employees (save for aramis, athos, porthos, and d’artagnan, whom the office has taken to referring to collectively as “The Boys,” for reasons constance is not privy to but approves of nonetheless) immediately take to asking questions at the top of their lungs, as though increased volume will somehow manifest in treville an ability to see the future.

after he feels that everyone has shouted an appropriate amount given the Situation, treville holds a hand aloft and everyone immediately quiets. “this review is to consist of, among other things, an audit, which means corporate will be sending an auditor in the coming weeks.” treville turns to cast a pointed glance at The Boys (who try, with various levels of success, to school their expressions into innocence and mild indignation) and says pointedly, “i expect you to be on your _best behavior_ ,” in a way that is vaguely reminiscent of a primary school teacher.

after the employees rush forward to mob treville once again, shouting questions once more, The Boys head to the break room to squabble over cheap snack food, not because any of them are particularly interested in off-brand oreos, but because they’d like a distraction from their impending layoffs and all that that entails. (they will, no doubt, discuss the Situation after hours with the assistance of copious amounts of sugar; perhaps they’ll even rope constance into their discussions; perhaps constance is looking forward to this.)

constance, who is also very much in need of distraction herself, pushes into the break room in the hopes of finding some chocolate, or coffee, or even some of athos’ whiskey.

The Boys stop bickering as soon as they see her to offer her reassuring grins (or, in athos’ case, something that is only grin-adjacent, but no less comforting in its sincerity.) “your place at eight, yeah?” aramis asks, cheerfully, pulling d’artagnan into a playful headlock as he makes a grab for the cookies which porthos is currently holding above everyone’s heads because even he likes to be a little shit occasionally. (“it’s healing,” he’d informed her solemnly a few weeks ago while holding the cup of coffee stirrers over Intern Luc’s head. “like chocolate.”)

constance smiles and nods, secure in the knowledge that some things will never change, and leaves to help treville corral the rest of his employees.

(after everyone’s been safely sequestered in their cubicles, treville asks after “The Boys” in a way that sounds decidedly parental and constance wonders if that’s where the others got it from.)

.

the auditor arrives four days after that, just as treville finishing another primary school-style speech about proper interaction with other adults (and especially about people from corporate, who are a separate type of adult to be treated with extra amounts of caution.)

“so, like, if normal people are minibosses,” says gaston the intern, pushing his pretentious glasses up the bridge of his pretentious nose, “corporate is the final boss.” he smiles here, waiting to be showered with approval that doesn’t come.

instead treville shrugs awkwardly at him in attempt to hide how very little he knows about videogames, and turns to the rest of the employees to deliver a final rousing speech, and then, as if on cue, the door opens to reveal a woman, wearing a blood-red pantsuit and pointy leather boots. treville looks over at her and blinks. “ah,” he says, after a long moment, “the auditor.”

she smiles in a way that is decidedly unpleasant. “monsieur treville,” she says, in a voice as smooth as silk. “a pleasure.” behind her, her personal assistant, who is dressed in the drabbest clothing known to man, smirks like a comic book villain.

behind her, the door creaks open as the boys return from the restroom, only to see the woman and stop in their tracks. or, well, athos stops, and the others run into his back and are then forced to stop. “it’s her,” says athos; he’s paled so much that he looks like a ghost. aramis is watching him as though he’s grown another head; constance doesn't blame him.

d’artagnan’s gaze passes over the auditor to land on her pa, at which point his eyes narrow into slits. “you,” he whispers.

and then, just as the auditor notices the four of them standing awkwardly by the restroom door, athos makes a break for the conference room. porthos and constance share a look of absolute bewilderment before following along with aramis, d’artagnan, and the auditor who has somehow shoved her way past the mob of employees, just in time to watch athos launch himself directly out of the second story window into the patch of rose bushes below.

“athos!” aramis cries, rushing to the window. below them, athos jumps to his feet like a cat and runs for the parking garage.  
  
everyone rushes out of the conference room again then spends a solid minute in the foyer staring at each other as they try to parse out what’s just happened.

d’artagnan, as if remerging from a fog, stares for a long moment at the pa, who is currently rifling through constance’s carefully curated pen and highlighter selection, the bastard, and says, “hey! athos, was it?”

the pa drops constance's pen immediately; his whole body seems to freeze in terror; when d’artagnan lunges forward to sock him in the mouth, the pa doesn’t so much as try to flinch away; he does, however, manage to look vaguely affronted as he attempts to surmise what's just happened.

“rochefort!” the auditor snaps, glancing anxiously at the door. rochefort the pa doesn’t move. d’artagnan punches him again and intern luc, standing at the back of the crowd of mesmerized employees, lets out a small whoop. 

constance sidles up to porthos and aramis, who have now completely given up on controlling or even comprehending what’s going on, and are instead taking turns with athos’ Secret Flask, for Especially Bad Days. she nudges porthos with an elbow; he hands the flask over without a word and together, the three of them watch as d’artagnan endeavours to give rochefort not one but two black eyes. the interns are now yelling and jeering as though they're watching a pay-per-view cage match on the telly.

the auditor, now caught between chasing after athos for whatever reason and rescuing her pa, makes an aggrieved noise and says, “rochefort, you blithering idiot,” before dragging him away by the collar.

no one says anything for solid minute after the door closes. after that, treville, who'd stayed silent thus far out of shock, collapses into his favorite desk chair (which is, for some reason, by aramis’ desk) and sighs deeply, which constance thinks sums up the situation quite nicely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * steve is a figment of my own imagination and was not featured in the show or the book in any capacity; he's named steve as opposed to something more French because i felt it was the sort of austere yet somewhat comical name that these dumbasses would choose for an office mascot  
> 
> * next update to come soon(-ish)  
> 
> * it's The Boys as in [The Boys Are Back In Town](https://i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/001/176/933/4d6.jpg)  
> 
> * find me on [tumblr](https://mayabazaar.tumblr.com)


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this...is so rushed and sloppy im sorry; its been in my drafts for so long that i had to get it posted though.

_constance meets d’artagnan for the first time at the receptionist’s desk on his first day._ _he is as disheveled then as he is now, more so even, but then, she’d attributed his appearance to first-day jitters and she couldn’t very well blame him for that could she, seeing as how she’d not-so-accidentally poured coffee all over aramis on her first day?_

 _what she_ does _blame him for is the fact that he’s thirty minutes late, and treville’s been pacing for the past half-hour and it’s driving everyone absolutely mad._

 _the funny thing is, she intends to rebuke him; she_ intends _to deliver a scathing speech about_ punctuality _and_ responsibility _, and then she looks at his ridiculous bird’s-nest of hair and his tie (horrendous even then) and the way his whole body seems to sag as he realizes what time it is, and she can almost_ feel _herself begin to soften, like butter left out too long in the sun._

_what she says, finally, after a full two minutes of absolute silence and confused staring on his part, is, “you’re late,” gently, too gently for her liking and, it seems, judging by the glare intern gaston shoots her on his way back to the copy room, too gently for anyone else’s liking either._

_“i know,” says d’artagnan, miserably, looking down at his shoes, “the police tried to arrest me while i was getting coffee this morning.”_

_constance’s brain makes a bizarre record-scratching noise as she tears her eyes away from his hands (which are quite nice, actually, square-palmed and long-fingered). “oh,” she says. she looks at his shirt, which is covered in coffee, then at his briefcase, which is covered in what seem to be bullet holes, and decides that it’s best to let treville handle this._

_his eyes widen to the size of saucers; constance can see the moment he realizes that’s a terrible thing to say to a colleague. “i wasn’t guilty of the crime, of course,” he says, his voice pitched noticeably higher, “which they know now.” a frown. “hopefully.”_

_“oh.”_

_“i realize that’s no excuse, and it won’t happen again, i promise--” d’artagnan’s rambling now, wringing his hands._

_constance looks to treville’s closed door, noting the distinct absence of the heavy thud of his footsteps. “i’m really not the person you should be talking to about this--”_

_“--i really do need this job--”_

_treville sees it fit to open the door then, saving constance the trouble of coming up with something to say. “d’artagnan was it?” he asks, as though he hasn’t been poring over the man’s file for the past hour, in between pacing and making everyone anxious._

_“y-yes, sir.”_

_treville nods once. “come in,” he says, and d’artagnan goes, but not before shooting a panicked backwards glance at constance, as though she’ll be able to rescue him in the event that treville decides to do the sensible thing and call the police._

_“who was that?” aramis asks, striding in from the break-room, collar unbuttoned, tie askew, and still somehow more put-together than constance has ever managed to appear._

_“who--? oh, uh. he’s new. name’s d’artagnan.”_

_“what’s he like?”_

_constance thinks, strangely, of d’artagnan’s eyes, the warmth they seemed to hold despite his nervousness, and shrugs. “he’s alright.”_

_aramis hums contemplatively, casting constance a sideways glance. porthos, who’d been trying to get at her post-it notes for the past twenty minutes, shoots him a Look before turning to stare pensively at treville’s door, now shut again, as constance has been for the past minute; aramis sets a mug of coffee on her desk and turns to do the same, as if in solidarity._

.

no one hears a thing from treville for a solid week after what everyone is now referring to as The Rochefort Incident because he comes into work three hours before anyone else, only to shut himself in his office until well after everyone else has gone.

not even aramis, the font of all office gossip, knows exactly what’s happening (although, unsurprisingly, he is still willing to make wild assumptions about their situation. for example: “perhaps,” he says one day, sidling up to constance while she’s on break, “he’s been replaced by a robot.” here she casts an incredulous look at him, and he raises his brows back at her. “look me in the eyes and tell me you’d notice if treville was replaced by an automaton.”

constance considers treville’s daily routine (a perfunctory hello at 8 am, followed by 4 hours of radio silence, lunch at 12, followed by another 5 hours of silence, perhaps a lecture in between hours three and four if the boys are being particularly childish, concluded with a perfunctory goodbye) and then resolves to ignore aramis for the rest of the day no matter how accurate his assumptions might appear.)

athos doesn’t return after the Incident either, nor does he make any attempt to contact anyone to let them know that he is, in fact, safe and sound and consequently, everyone takes to assuming that athos has died a terrible death at the hands of the auditor and rochefort the pa, possibly involving those impossibly pointy boots of hers.

d’artagnan, aramis and porthos participate loudly in such speculation when it occurs, which is often, but constance more often than not catches them having quiet, concerned group discussions over vending machine food in the break room. (given that the last time athos had done something this dramatic for no apparent reason was five years ago, when he’d taken a week’s leave to barricade himself in the cellar of a bed-and-breakfast three hours from the city and eat through the inn’s store of brie, constance thinks this is a sound course of action.)

she finds herself hosting a quiet concerned snack discussion the saturday after athos’ flight into the rose bushes at one in the morning, when she’s woken from a nightmare about jacques and his animate finger moustache by loud knocking. d’artagnan collapses in a heap by her feet as soon as she opens the door. she looks to aramis with a raised brow, but it is d’artagnan who answers her unasked question: “athos called.”

she blinks, taking in aramis’ erratic fidgeting, porthos’ extra-calm, and d’artagnan, now curled up in the fetal position on the ground. “ah.” porthos hums rubbing his hands together absentmindedly; aramis wraps his flimsy jacket around himself; constance frowns. “come inside, will you?”

the process of heaving d’artagnan off the threshold involves lots of lifting and leaning, and at one point his face ends up pressed against her collarbone in a way that isn’t...entirely unwelcome but she reminds herself sternly that they’ve a conversation to have and heaves him again onto her couch before taking a few very large steps back. (three; three large steps back because her living room is the size of a broom closet, thanks jacques.)

the other boys sink onto to the couch next to him and constance winces when she hears the springs creaking ominously. “right,” she says, with an anxious glance at her poor sofa. “what exactly did athos say?”

“dunno,” says porthos calmly, despite the Situation At Hand. “we couldn’t make any of it out. he was usin’ an outdoor payphone, i think; it was windy as hell out.”

“mentioned something about his wife. and the auditor,” says d’artagnan into the couch cushions.

“his _wife_ ?” constance knows she oughtn’t sound so incredulous; athos is a dear friend and can be quite likeable once one has plied him with enough coffee, but. _but_. “who’d marry athos?”

“only God knows,” says aramis, sighing. “he’s never mentioned her name, but he _did_ tell me the story a few years ago (under extreme duress, mind you--)”

“--by _extreme duress_ , he means _excessive amounts of alcohol_ ,” porthos cuts in, dryly.

“-- _extreme_ duress,” aramis continues, pointedly elbowing porthos in the side. “i can’t remember any of it at present because i was just as drunk, _but_. i do remember that it sounded like something out of a bad movie.”

“what does that have to do with athos now?”

aramis thinks. “...nothing.”

constance throws her hands up in the air. “and what are we to do now then?”

porthos shrugs. “wait?”

.

they don’t have to wait very long; athos trudges through the door to de bourbon imports later that morning and slumps into his chair as though nothing’s happened. constance pinches herself almost three times to make sure that she isn’t dreaming. d’artagnan reaches over tentatively to poke athos in the cheek and, when athos swats his hand away, jumps out of his chair, looking as though he’s seen a ghost.

porthos and aramis wander over from the break room, catch sight of athos (now hunching over as far as possible in order to avoid the attention) and stop immediately. porthos drops his coffee mug. aramis gasps dramatically and clasps a hand to his chest, as if to clutch at imaginary pearls.

all the interns, who seem to have a sixth-sense as far as Drama is concerned, have come out of their hidey-hole by the copy machine to stare.

“ _don’t,_ ” says athos, in warning.

“it really _is_ you!” aramis cries, ignoring him and striding forward, arms outstretched, to wrap athos in a hug.

“fuck off, aramis,” says athos into aramis’ shoulder, although he doesn’t make any effort to move which constance understands; aramis gives the best hugs.

a second later, porthos steps over his shattered mug to hug both aramis and athos so hard that constance can almost hear their ribs creaking in protest. d’artagnan winces in sympathy and inches away from the three of them ever so slightly; constance snorts and takes a picture for the office group-chat.

(later, after everyone’s cleared out for lunch, she gives him a three-second hug of her own, alone in the breakroom. “i’m glad you’re safe,” she says, to which athos responds, wryly,

“so am i, dear constance,” and that’s that.)

.

treville resurfaces the next day in much the same manner as athos had, which is to say very melodramatically. the entire office starts to applaud as soon as he opens the door. luc rushes over to place a little paper crown on treville’s head and steps back again before treville can shoot him one of his Looks. aramis and porthos wipe away fake tears.

“welcome back, sir,” says luc, saluting him solemnly. “how was the war?”

treville watches him warily, and constance starts preparing an explanation in advance for when treville will inevitably sidle up to her desk for another lesson on the Hip New Lingo.

“boring,” says treville finally, then, “attention!” he trails off as he realize that the entire office is watching him with the level of absolute engagement they usually reserve only for internet cat videos and shitty tabloids.

“right. corporate has decided that, after last week’s...incident--” (here treville tries and fails to avoid looking at athos and d’artagnan, and athos and d’artagnan try and fail to pretend that the way the entire office immediately turns to look at the two of them doesn’t make them uncomfortable) “--another review is in order. they will be sending another of their auditors, and a...supervisor to make sure there isn’t a repeat occurrence.”

he turns to d’artagnan. “i’d ask that you refrain from punching either of them.”

“he’ll try his best, sir,” says aramis, moustache twitching.

“see that he does,” treville responds, narrowing his eyes in a way that’s probably meant to be intimidating and in actuality makes him look a little blind, and then “back to work!” and everyone returns to their seats to finish their cat videos.

.

the new auditors are late.

constance knows this because at exactly 9:01, monsieur treville starts pacing up and down the length of the office and peering suspiciously at everyone. every once in a while he stops to call them, then to ask constance to call them, then to grumble at their lateness.

“sir,” ventures d’artagnan at exactly 10:01, safely positioned behind the partition on constance’s desk-cubicle-thing, “perhaps you ought to sit down.” constance hums her assent, staring warily at the carpeting beneath treville’s heeled boots.

“sit down,” monsieur treville says flatly, as though d’artagnan had suggested he drown himself. “in front of richelieu?”

“who is--?”

treville scoffs. “you might as well offer him your head on a silver platter. would you like to burn down the building while you’re at it, just to make sure we're all fired?” he pauses mid-tirade as d’artagnan curls into himself, like an insect avoiding a boot. “i do hope you’re not planning to cower behind the deskcubicle when he arrives.”

“no sir,” says d’artagnan in a way that implies he very much was, “sorry sir.”

and naturally, that is the moment the auditors (or, rather, auditor and supervisor) choose to arrive.

“treville,” says the first, a man dressed in an honest-to-god cape, attempting to look down at treville despite the fact that they’re nearly the same height.

“richelieu,” says treville flatly, and then, turning to the woman behind richelieu, “anne.”

“treville,” says anne, who, next to richelieu, looks almost underdressed in her sensible satin blouse, slacks, and flats. “wonderful to see you again.”

“madame de bourbon,” says aramis, somehow managing to look rakish even with an un-tied tie and a streak of marker on his chin. he looks more out of sorts than constance has ever seen him, staring at anne--madame de bourbon warmly despite his surprise. everyone turns to scrutinize her face in order to decide whether this is The Madame de Bourbon or just some woman who just happened to have the same last name as the chief of operations.

madame de bourbon’s composure falters for a split second in the face of...well, that face. “aramis,” she says, coolly.

constance turns to look at the office at large, d’artagnan now peering out over her partition, athos and porthos watching aramis suspiciously, treville and richelieu glaring at each other in the middle of the lobby and hisses, “what’s happening?”

steve turns suddenly in his fishbowl to stare at her solemnly before running straight into the glass as though in sympathy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * treville is exactly one inch shorter than richelieu; this has no relevance to the story at large but i thought it was Important
>   
> 
> * ch 3 to come...as soon as i finish writing it
>   
> 
> * thank u all for ur lovely comments!!! i made many weird faces while reading them in an effort to contain my Feelings; as always, feedback is greatly appreciated


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